


A Little Imagination, Darling

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Adult Themes, Catboy Eames, Goldilocks - Freeform, M/M, Puss in Boots - Freeform, Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Twisted Fairy Tales, anthropomorphic wolves, growing relationship, mild nightmarish elements, princess and the pea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: With adorable cross-stitch art for each chapter byQueenThayet!Eames knows Arthur is dangerous, intelligent, ruthless — he loves his lover’s reputation in dreamshare and trades on it shamelessly when they’re not working together.An extractor getting snotty about Eames’ ‘work ethic’ (as if a job’d ever failed because of him)? “Sorry mate, can you wrap this up? Got a call with Arthur in a mo,” and then he can settle back to enjoy the blood draining from said extractor’s face.He knows Arthur’s level of competence approaches perfection and doesn’t that thought do things to him that make his trousers that much snugger? And everyone knows Arthur’s got the best control over his projections of anyone in dreamsharing. His test runs have become legendary exercises in terror for newcomers to the industry.But getting the point man to have fun in dreams? Well. That’s one of Eames’ specialities, after all…
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 39
Collections: Inception Big Bang 2020





	1. The Forger Who Cried Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames suggests recreational dreaming to Arthur, plotting a seduction within a fairy tale framework of Red Riding Hood. Arthur turns it around on him.

Eames crept down the hallway carefully, avoiding the squeaky floorboards with a cat burglar’s precision (not an easy task, thank you very much, since Arthur firmly believed in the principle of a nightingale floor), and peered cautiously around the corner into the kitchen. 

Arthur was sitting at the small table, scowling at his laptop as he typed fast, obviously irritated, the lines of his back and shoulders tense. Eames noted the 9mm semiautomatic laying on the table next to the computer and nodded to himself. If Arthur was carrying in his own kitchen, it was time to make him take a break. Besides, he hadn’t seen the point man in almost three months and he’d missed him like air. Arthur wouldn’t even admit they were ‘together’ but Eames figured several years of dancing around each other, a couple dozen shared ‘holidays’, and a thriving sex life had to count for something. Hell, just the pigtail-pulling segment should qualify for the title of Longest Most Twisted Courtship Ever.

He shifted his weight forward, ready to move, and Arthur’s hand twitched toward the gun, his head tilted. “If that’s anyone other than Eames, you’re about to die. If that’s Eames, I’m not in the mood right now. Go away.”

Eames grinned and sauntered around the corner, rubbing his hands together briskly to warm them before laying them along Arthur’s neck and shoulders, delighting in the involuntary sound that escaped from Arthur as he leaned back a little into the warmth. Eames slid his hands up into Arthur’s hair, kneading his scalp, and then leaned down to drop a light kiss on the top of Arthur’s head. 

Arthur wrinkled his nose and made to move away and Eames casually cupped a hand around his throat, exerting a gentle pressure. It was a hint, a suggestion, a promise, and Arthur froze on a tense in-breath, then forced himself to relax somewhat into the light hold. Eames knew he was the only one Arthur allowed to handle him like that, but, even so, the prickly point man was considerably pricklier than usual, and didn’t relax completely.

“The gossip going around is that you murdered your entire team and left body parts hanging from the flagpole as a warning to others,” Eames teased, letting his fingers stroke gently along Arthur’s throat.

Arthur snorted, letting his shoulders ease a little more. “It wasn’t quite _that_ bad.”

“I hear the incompetent architect has all but disappeared.” Eames carefully tilted Arthur’s head back to kiss the tip of his nose.

Arthur smiled up at him, a dangerous smugness curling the corners of his mouth. “That’s because I’m _erasing_ him,” he said, gesturing at the laptop. “No personal history, no birth certificates, no passports, no bank accounts, no social media accounts... He won’t exist at all by the time I’m done. But he’s alive.”

Eames laughed. “Look at you, all restrained in your vengeance.”

“Yes, so leave me alone for a couple of hours so I can finish.”

“Hmm. Fine, I’ll go get us some Thai food.”

Arthur turned back to his laptop with an eyeroll. “That’s your put-Arthur-in-a-good-mood choice. When you’re planning a seduction.”

“Arthur, darling, I never _plan_ a seduction with you. You just inspire me...”

“Out,” Arthur ordered, trying to hide how the corner of his mouth tucked up. 

He started tapping away rapidly again at his laptop, but some of the tension had clearly left him, so Eames went, whistling cheerily and rubbing his hands. He had a plan and Thai food was only the merest beginning. 

Eames had found a new paintball range nearby, and he’d been taunting some ex-special forces lads he’d met online _for an entire week_ just to get them ready and willing to take on the two of them. He grinned. He was _really_ looking forward to the wound-up-Arthur sex afterwards. Whether they won or lost, keyed-up Arthur would be a delight to pin down and fuck into the mattress. 

And if all that wasn’t enough to shift his darling’s mood, then he’d just have to talk Arthur into playing around in a dream. He smirked. Beating the ex-commandos at paintball would be far easier, but quite possibly far less fun. 

* * *

Eames nipped at the bruise on the back of Arthur’s shoulder as he held him, face-down and naked, against the mattress with his bodyweight. Arthur struggled halfheartedly but subsided when Eames applied more pressure to the livid mark. 

“You were _glorious_ , pet, taking out that sniper even as his teammate tackled you off the roof of the shed.” Arthur breathed out as Eames pressed a finger against the edge of the bruise. “They weren’t playing fair, were they? Sore losers, hey?”

“Eames _..._ ”

He grinned wolfishly as Arthur squirmed. “Five of them to the two of us and they _still_ lost. You and I are brilliant together, darling.” He worked Arthur’s thighs apart and settled between them, one hand tangled in Arthur’s hair and holding his head down, the other holding Arthur’s hip, thumb pressing into another bruise on the side of Arthur’s lovely backside, the result of a petulantly unofficial shot from the sniper Arthur had taken out of the game.

“...Eames, pl-... _move_ , dammit _..._ ”

“Ahhh, you were almost there. What was that first word again?”

“Goddamnit, Eames...” Arthur pressed his hips back against him as he panted into the sheets. “ _Now_.”

“That’s not it, love. Try again, hmm?” Eames shoved against him, heavy as he reached for the lube. 

Arthur clenched a fist into the bedding. “...please,” he finally whispered, turning his head to meet Eames’ lips, his kiss hungry and desperate after all the teasing Eames had done. 

“Yeah,” he breathed into Arthur’s mouth. “There you are, Arthur. My Arthur.”

* * *

Eames glared at the back of Arthur’s head as he wandered into the kitchen, grumpy at the early morning alarm Arthur had set. Arthur was already dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee, and Eames mourned that he’d missed the view of all those lovely marks Arthur wore, from both the paintball game and from the games they’d played in bed. “Work, work, work! This job doesn’t even _start_ for three weeks. You don’t even know what research to begin. Why are we not curled up in bed right now?” Eames ran his hands through his own hair, watching Arthur restrain a smile as it all stood up the wrong way.

“Because you don’t curl, you sprawl? Anyway, I’m putting a new architect through his paces, so I need to establish a training dream.” Arthur stirred a little cream into his coffee and sat at the table to open his laptop. 

“Oh, come _on_ , darling, you never have any fun in dreams.” The forger leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a scowl emphasizing the blanket creases he knew were still visible on his face. If Arthur thought he was going to actually _work_ today, Eames would gladly pull out all the stops. 

Arthur glanced at Eames over his cup as he took a reflective sip and then put the coffee down with a raised eyebrow. “Is that what you think? That I don’t enjoy dreams? Or that I’m not _capable_ of having fun in them?”

“You never go into dreams for pleasure, it’s always efficiency, industry, and everything planned to the very second. Competency can be taken too far, Arthur.” Eames was now well into an epic pout, for dramatic purposes only of course, and was delighted to see Arthur playing along a little by hiding an affectionate smile behind his cup. 

“What did you have in mind?” Arthur asked with a sigh before sipping his coffee again, as if reluctant. 

Eames hid his delight and gave him his most fetching frown. “Don’t you trust me? I know what you need.”

“Do you? Well, you know me so thoroughly, after all.” Arthur’s glance was razor-edged and verging on impatience, and Eames abruptly dropped his put-out pose and grinned. 

“I do indeed, petal. Let’s do a little role-playing, hmm? A little game of hunt and catch?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “That sounds...predatory. Again, what did you have in mind?”

Eames licked his lips lasciviously. “We could play Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, hey?”

“Eames, I’m not going to pass judgement on your twisted fantasies, especially considering what I put up with in bed, but I am going to suggest changing it up a bit.”

Eames felt a spark of intrigued interest flicker through him. If Arthur _was_ feeling playful... “Done!” He went to get the PASIV set up, leaving Arthur smiling into his coffee cup.

* * *

Arthur watched from the shadows of the trees as Eames glanced around and then down at himself. He laughed. “Darling, I’ll have you know I absolutely _rock_ this red plaid lumberjack shirt!” Arthur felt his lip curl in a tiny silent snarl of amusement. 

Eames turned around in the clearing to survey the surrounding forest. “So I’m meant to be Generously-Sized-Thank-You-Very-Much Red Riding Hood, pet? Because...” He glanced down as a small woven picnic basket appeared on the ground in front of him. “Ah. And what treats am I bringing to grandmother’s house, I wonder?”

He picked up the basket, opening it with a flourish, and laughed at the selection of outlandish sex toys and flavored lubricant thus revealed. “Arthur, poppet, what kind of relationship am I meant to be _having_ with dear old grandmama?”

Arthur paced slowly around the clearing, staying just out of range of Eames’ view. He knew the rustling of the undergrowth would carry though and, indeed, Eames tilted his head to listen, following the sound around in an equally slow turn. 

“I don’t exactly play the part of prey very well, you know,” Eames called with a smile, even as his body recognized the change in the atmosphere and he settled into that deceptively relaxed readiness that turned Arthur on so very much. 

Arthur let slip a low rumbled chuckle. “Who is it you think you’re talking to?” he rasped, the change in his jaw and throat making the voice deep and rough and unrecognizable. He stepped out of the shadows of the trees, tall and furred, massive shoulders rolling a little as his jaw dropped in a snarl.

Eames blinked at the werewolf, his hand brushing over where he’d normally be carrying a gun. “Bloody hell, Arthur,” he whispered. “I didn’t think you’d be able to change the game up _this_ much.”

“Arrrrrrthurrrr,” he growled thoughtfully. “Hmmm. _Not_ the right name.” He licked his teeth, watching Eames’ body language change entirely. He’d wanted a play hunt? He’d get a proper chase. “Hey. Eames...” The wolf took a deep breath and grinned fiercely. “... _rrrrun._ ”

Eames bolted for the path, and Arthur eyed the abandoned joke basket, contents spilled out on the ground, with amusement. He gave the forger a generous head start before he threw back his head in a howl and leaped after him. 

In the cottage, Arthur blinked at the fireplace as he withdrew most of his attention from the wolfish projection chasing Eames, leaving just enough to monitor the hunt. He grinned, knowing Eames was probably trying frantically to work out how Arthur was managing a forge in the dream, when the truth was that Arthur, after many years of secret practice, simply had the best control over his projections of anyone in the industry. His _projections_ could look like anyone or anything Arthur could imagine, even if he couldn’t do much more with himself than change clothes in a dream.

The wolf cut Eames off when he made a break for the cottage and drove him in another direction. Arthur hummed in pleasure. He wasn’t quite finished with his preparations and he wanted Eames weary and just a little desperate before he was allowed to take refuge. 

Eames dreamed up a gun and Arthur grinned, setting several other werewolves to howling from the forest around the panting forger, letting him know there wasn’t just one hunter. Eames cursed and shoved the gun into a pocket, dodging around trees in another attempt to get to safety. 

Arthur glanced around the interior of the cozy cottage, making sure everything was in order before turning to the bed. A generously oversized one; he’d need it for what he had planned. He smiled as a projection appeared, lounging in the bed — another large and muscular werewolf-Arthur wearing silky sapphire-blue pajamas over his dark fur. He got back a toothy grin and a wink, his own eyes crinkling at the corners in the furry face. 

“Right then,” he said out loud. “Time to bring him this way.” He let his attention slip back into one of the projections in the forest and started herding Eames closer, leaving little openings that let him dart nearer to the ridiculous little storybook cottage. 

Eames took the opportunities offered, finally dashing for the door and slamming inside, a glare on his face. “I should’ve just shot myself out of this bloody dream!” he growled, turning and then freezing as the wolf in silk grinned at him. “Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur, what the hell are you planning to do with those teeth?!”

With a rumbling laugh, the wolf brushed his clawed hands down the front of the silk. “Are they the only enormous things you see to comment on?” he growled. “Let’s not get so off-script here, little human.”

Eames blinked in alarm at the generous lap of the werewolf, then looked up and around with a faint hint of desperation, finally finding Arthur where he was sitting in the shadowed corner with a smirk. 

“Oh, thank god, Arthur! I thought...”

“You thought I could suddenly forge?”

Eames glanced between Arthur and his werewolf projection. “I admit I don’t understand _what_ you’ve done, but it’s impressive as all hell.”

The wolf loomed up behind him and slid clawed hands around Eames’ upper arms, bending to sniff along the side of Eames’ throat. Arthur smiled at Eames’ alarm and rose from his comfortable chair, sauntering over to begin unbuttoning the plaid shirt he’d dressed Eames in. 

“Arthur...darling...” Eames’ pulse was beating in his throat where the wolf was nuzzling and his breathing was growing faster. When he squirmed, the wolf’s grip grew a little tighter and he growled against Eames’ skin. “We should discuss this...”

Arthur and the wolf both paused. “Color, Eames?” 

Eames rolled his eyes. “Green, you prat. I’d’ve called yellow if I’d needed it.”

The wolf snorted and went back to nuzzling along Eames’ jawbone. Arthur smiled as he pushed the shirt open and let his fingers trail over Eames’ tattoos. “Then just think of him as a novel sort of active restraint system.”

The wolf laughed softly against the back of Eames’ neck, the massive teeth brushing ever so lightly. “Don’t you _want_ me to participate, little human? I’m just part of your ‘darling,’ your ‘pet,’ after all.” 

He ground his pajama-clad hips against Eames’ backside and Arthur laughed softly at the look of conflicted dismay that crossed Eames’ face. 

“My!” Eames quavered, his voice ratcheting higher. “What big...er, _genitalia_...you have!”

The wolf huffed a laugh, his breath ruffling Eames’ hair. “All the better to fuck you with, ‘poppet.’”

“Oi now, just you hold that thought!” Eames struggled in vain while the wolf held him easily and licked a long wet stripe along the top of his bare shoulder. “I don’t know what parts of the internet you’ve been wandering around, Arthur, but there is _no way_ this dream is going to end up with me hanging off a werewolf’s knot!”

Arthur chuckled as he traced his fingertips over Eames’ chest and stomach, letting them wander down to roughly fondle Eames through his jeans. “Bold of you to assume you have that much say in the matter, Eames.” He looked back up to meet Eames’ wide eyes and grinned. “But no, I intend to fuck you into the mattress myself. I just didn’t want to be distracted with your fussing.” He gestured briefly at the door and another werewolf stepped through, this one wearing a soft snug t-shirt and loose boxers with a hole in the back for his tail. 

The new wolf bared his teeth in clear canine delight and came over to scent along Eames’ throat. “Smells delicious,” he rumbled, inhaling deeply. 

The pajama-clad wolf snapped his teeth at the newcomer. “He’s not for eating.” 

“Mmm. Pity. What _are_ we doing with him then?” He snuffled down Eames’ chest to shove his arm aloft and sniff at his armpit. He brightened and turned to Arthur. “Are we fucking him?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ am fucking him. _You_ are holding him down.”

The new wolf considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe we can put his hands to good use.”

Arthur laughed softly as Eames twitched in their grip, noting that, despite his superficial protests, he was already more than half-hard and leaning into the wolves’ grasp. “Possibly. Now get him on the bed.” The wolves lifted Eames with ease and deposited him on his back, slicing his jeans off with precise flicks of their claws. One of them gently stroked Eames’ cock, carefully keeping his claws clear of the delicate skin and Eames shuddered, his eyes wide but also hugely dilated in arousal. 

“You like this,” a wolf whispered in his ear. Arthur watched as Eames turned his face to hide against a furry shoulder. “How often do you get held down, pretty little human? I think you’re going to _enjoy_ this. Chased down, stripped, trapped between the two of us, held open for a third...”

Eames made a little wild sound as the other wolf pulled his thighs apart and Arthur grinned, stripping his clothes off. “Eames. You were right. I _haven’t_ been having enough fun in dreams.”

  
  



	2. These Boots Were Made For Strutting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puss in Boots, of course! Except Eames is a catboy and Arthur is a high end tailor and fashion designer and they have to save the king, and the kingdom, from the clutches of an evil giant. Who is also a fashion designer.  
> “¯\\_(ツ)_/¯“

Eames glared at the back of Arthur’s head from across the living room. They’d had two glorious weeks of amazing sex with occasional bouts of research and preparation for Arthur’s job and then Arthur had left for São Paulo. 

The São Paulo job, while apparently very successful, had lasted for over three months and left Arthur a tense and jumpy travesty of himself. The lingering insomnia meant it had been three days since he’d been back and Arthur still hadn’t been able to do more than catnap exhaustedly, his body shifting in restless agitation until he gave in and got up again. 

They hadn’t even had sex yet; Arthur was so tired he was touch-sensitive and flinched every time Eames stroked his skin. He was currently hunched over his laptop, following some arcane financial transaction through multiple international banks. As far as Eames could determine, it wasn’t even a transaction that involved Arthur at all. 

When Eames had asked why, trying to hide his exasperation, Arthur had simply shrugged without looking up. “Practice,” he’d said shortly, then nothing more for an hour.

“Right,” Eames finally snapped, giving up his pretense of reading as Arthur’s hands twitched yet again. He tossed the book aside. “Time for you to get some sleep.”

“Eames...” Arthur started, his voice filled with irritation, and then he squawked when Eames hauled him out of his chair and dropped him onto the sofa. For a moment Eames wasn’t sure whether outrage or laughter would win, but then Arthur snorted and let his head fall back with a tired chuckle. “You know I’d have killed anyone else who tried that.”

“You say the sweetest things, darling.” Eames hauled Arthur to a sitting position and straddled him, holding his face still. Arthur’s breath caught as Eames loomed over him, his dark eyes wide, shadowed patches under them like sloppy smears of makeup. “I know you’re weirdly sensitive right now, so this is going to be fast and hard, pet.” Eames was already reaching into Arthur’s boxers and lifting his cock free, not bothering to be delicate about it. 

“Eames!” Arthur lifted his hands to shove him off and Eames wrapped a hand around the back of Arthur’s head, holding him for a brutal grinding kiss while he stroked Arthur’s prick, the little twist at the end of each motion drawing a groan against his mouth. 

Arthur’s hands twitched against Eames’ waist when he settled them there and Eames felt a rush of triumph as Arthur held on for the ride, not fighting him. 

“That’s it, love, come on, give it to me,” he murmured into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur groaned and clutched at him, hips surging as Eames moved his hand faster. Eames lifted his head to locate the nearest container of lube, a little worried that if Arthur lasted much longer, the friction would overcome the pleasure. But then Arthur gasped under him, hands clamping down as his hips rolled up and he came hard, shuddering and biting his lip while his eyes squeezed shut. Eames stopped stroking, holding his hand still and keeping his thumb pressed under the crown, letting Arthur ride against it as he needed. 

Arthur exhaled a long shaky breath and let his hands fall away to lie on the cushions beside him. His eyes relaxed, lashes trembling against the bruised-looking skin under them. Eames brushed a gentle kiss against the slack mouth, pleased at the already deepening breaths he could feel, and swung off the sofa. He tenderly draped a blanket over Arthur, leaving him sinking into a doze as he slipped away to the bathroom. Arthur normally insisted on cleanup directly after, but Eames wasn’t about to risk waking him. He’d have a quick wank to tide himself over and then sneak out for some errands, leaving the flat quiet for a while. 

* * *

“I’m not fragile,” Arthur noted with amusement as Eames ran a thumb under his eyes. He took a sip of his tea and made a face. 

“No coffee for you until you’ve caught up on some sleep.” Eames tutted as he lifted Arthur’s chin to look him over more closely. “You still have dark circles and I don’t care for them.”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth tucked up, revealing a hint of dimples. “I would never have guessed you for the fussing type, Mr Eames.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention all this time and that’s entirely unlike you. I take care of my things, Arthur, as you should have noticed.” Eames drew a fingertip down one deepening dimple and turned away to hide what he feared might be crossing his face. He was the best forger around and a superlative conman, but Arthur had an uncanny ability to read even the smallest clues he might let slip. 

“If I’m just one of your things, then I might be offended.” He heard Arthur sip his tea and then put the cup down with a definite clink, but Eames busied himself with refilling the kettle. 

“You are a very important thing,” he said lightly as he set the electric kettle to boil and opened the cupboard for more tea. 

“I better damn well be. Eames.” He heard Arthur get up and he waited without turning, hands resting on the countertop. Arthur settled warm against his back, his arms coming around, his hands splayed against Eames’ chest and belly. “Eames.”

Eames’ voice was low when he responded. “Arthur.” He brought his hands up to lay over Arthur’s and sighed. “You are a very important thing,” he repeated quietly, and took a deep breath. “You’re also bloody troublesome,” he grumbled as he turned around, glaring. “You don’t take care of yourself properly and I’d like to have you around for a while, darling.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Is this going to be about the fun thing again?”

“Now that you remind me...” Eames huffed a laugh at Arthur’s exaggerated groan. “We _could_ do a dream. If we went down two levels we could have a nice long one.”

“Huh.” Arthur gave him a skeptical look and stepped away to pick up his teacup. “Do you already have something in mind? And will I need to take over again?”

“I admit I ended up enjoying your little demonstration, darling, but just in case, we’ll make this one _my_ dream.” Eames tapped his mouth thoughtfully as he stared into the distance and then a wicked grin spread his mouth wide. “I just thought of something fun. What about Puss In Boots?”

Arthur stared at him over the rim of his cup. “More fairy tales? Wait.” He set the cup down with a thunk. “Are...you planning to be a cat?”

“Part cat,” Eames beamed at him. “And now you’re intrigued!”

“I admit to...a bit of curiosity...”

“Hah! Let’s go, petal, I think you’ll enjoy this thoroughly.”

* * *

Arthur opened his eyes to a high-ceilinged warehouse space, clean and bright and airy, lined with racks of various cloth rolls and male mannequin forms. Long tables covered in cloth scraps and paper cutouts dotted the space, along with assorted pieces of sewing equipment. It was all strangely familiar to Arthur in a dreamlike way - his hands itched to pull together some of the cut cloth sections and make magic on the nearest sewing machine. He glanced around at the nearer mannequins, eyeing the crisp lines of the trousers with approval until the sound of a throat clearing snapped his head back around. 

“Your pardon, Master Arthur,” the prim-looking gentleman said. “I hate to interrupt your mourning, but your father unfortunately left many debts...”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Did he now.”

“Oh yes, and...”

“I assume I’m about to lose the workshop here?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“But presumably I have a little time yet in which to come up with the money to pay his debts.”

“...yes...but also...”

“I’m sure my father left me an item in his will that you wish to deliver to me.”

“...well, _yes_ , Master Arthur...”

Arthur crossed his arms impatiently and tapped his foot. 

“Er...yes. Just a moment.” The man skittered away only to return a moment later holding a leash. Attached to the other end was a collared and sauntering Eames, hair tousled around two twitching cat ears, a long tail swaying elegantly behind him. He was wearing a garish silk robe, loosely belted, and nothing else. When he grinned widely at Arthur, his canines were long and prominent, and Arthur noted claws on both fingers and toes. 

“A catboy,” he said flatly. “You claim my father left me a catboy.”

“He talks!” the man exclaimed anxiously. “You might sell him to reduce your debt. He must be worth something...”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Eames. 

“Miaow, darling,” Eames purred.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Eames?”

Eames smirked as the legal lackey gasped. “How did you know his name, Master Arthur?”

“It’s on his collar,” Arthur pointed out. 

“Oh...oh, yes, so it is...”

“Is there anything else?” Arthur asked pointedly, eyeing the door. 

“I...er, no...?”

“Then good day to you,” Arthur said even more pointedly.

Eames snickered as the lackey fled. “I adore how you make even the legal profession tremble, _Master_ Arthur.”

Arthur circled him thoughtfully, staring him down and up to take in the details. “I am impressed by your creativity in dreams and also slightly alarmed. Eames, drop the robe.”

Eames gave him a leer, his tail curled in a somehow lecherous fashion. “Nothing all that unusual down below, aside from my worrying girth, of course.”

Arthur sighed impatiently. “Yes, Eames, I’m aware that cats are quite a bit smaller in proportion than humans, but...”

“Oi! That’s not...!” Eames broke off and snorted when Arthur started laughing. “Condescending prick. Come here.”

Arthur stepped forward and reached up to fondle Eames’ cat ears, producing a rumbling purr in reaction. Eames pulled him close with a smirk, hip to hip, and bared his teeth for Arthur’s inspection. Arthur tested the sharpness with his fingertip, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t bite your tongue,” he advised. “Now tell me the plan for this fairy tale ripoff.”

“Mmm. Your father was a well-known tailor with quite the list of clientele among the upper crust of society. The menswear from Point House was in tremendous demand, so much so that his main rival conspired to get him bogged down in debt and eventually, probably, had him poisoned.”

“Probably?”

“Well, of course there’s no proof, darling. Lord Ogreton is a very powerful man.”

“Ogre.” Arthur leaned away to glare. “As in giant?”

“Ogre _ton_ , love, and one doesn’t speak of another man’s unseemly personal deformities in polite society, remember?” Eames smirked. “Truly an ugly and oversized bastard, but his Bully Boy fashions do appeal to the haut monde. His hold on society is assured so long as the young king prefers his fashions.”

“And our goal...?”

“To defeat the ogre by having the young king choose to wear _your_ fashions, thereby saving your family name and fortunes, and having your impeccable taste strutting the halls and decorating the balls of the rich and powerful.”

“Nice little pun. So I’m the designer in this little scenario?” Arthur felt an unexpected surge of anticipation. “What’s our first step?”

“Why, Master Arthur, I ask only of you a pair of boots!”

Arthur paused. “I think I’m going to insist on some trousers as well, Eames.”

* * *

Arthur had to admit that Eames rocked the thigh-high boots. “You look like a furry pirate fantasy.”

Eames purred, preening as he strode around the warehouse to pose in various mirrors, running his hands over himself. He wore snug wool trousers under the boots and a gorgeously embroidered waistcoat over a loose and creamy shirt. His tail curled this way and that in smug satisfaction. Arthur had sewn a hole and a button-up back into the trousers to fit Eames’ tail and it swayed, expressively licentious, as Eames stalked about. 

Arthur bit his lip. “So you’re off to the party, then?”

Eames glanced at him, his eyes sparkling. His mouth curled in a curve that was remarkably similar to his tail. “Sex _after_ , love. We’ve a king to entice with high fashion.”

Arthur made a grumpy noise and turned to a worktable. “Fine, I’ll just be working away here.”

Eames laughed and enveloped him from behind. “Arthur, my darling, _you_ need to make us Point House suit porn that will leave cocks hard and snatches wet.”

“Half done then,” Arthur grumbled. “ _You_ don’t need much else.”

“We’re going to need a...signature, a distinctively Arthurian/Eamesian _something_.” 

Arthur paused, then turned to regard Eames from toes to tail tip. A dimple peeked out and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes. And I think I know what it should be.”

Eames grinned toothily at him. “Then I’m off!” He slung a broad-strapped leather bag across his chest, adding to the piratical theme, and sauntered out.

Arthur watched him go and then glanced at an empty work table, smirking as he dreamed up a metalworking station. 

* * *

“..and _then_ ,” Eames chortled, “I winked at the lad as he was walking toward me, and he promptly tripped and spilled his wine all over the king’s shoulder!” He leaned against the back of the sofa as he laughed and patted at his stomach happily. “So then _I_ swooped in as the lad was apologizing abjectly and whipped a Point House shirt out of my magical satchel to offer it to the king as a replacement. Lord Ogreton gnashed his teeth angrily, but _he_ certainly didn’t have a spare to save the king’s dignity, now did he?”

Arthur smiled as he watched Eames wave his arms about and describe the various mishaps he’d orchestrated for the king’s clothing. A dancer’s heel tearing the king’s trousers, to be replaced with a snug-fitting and daring pair from Eames’ bag. An enthusiastic lady-in-waiting who turned too quickly and left food splashed across the king’s waistcoat; speedily replaced with a gold-embroidered fishscale waistcoat that fit perfectly and glittered enticingly in the light. 

When the party had decided to move to another venue, it was discovered that the king’s overcoat had been misplaced. Eames had bashfully (according to his own humble description) offered a replacement from the magical satchel, a resplendent leather- and fur-trimmed coat with golden detailing, truly fit for a king.

“His majesty was _delighted_ , especially since it fit so perfectly, almost as if it had been made for him.” Eames grinned and held out a hand to Arthur, inviting him closer. 

“And?” Arthur came over to kneel astride Eames’ thighs, smiling down at him. 

“And,” Eames continued triumphantly, “his majesty admired my boots so openly that I had to offer him his own pair, only more splendid, of course. And those attending the parties were entirely appreciative of his Majesty’s outfit. He was _quite_ gratified.”

“And?” Arthur began unbuttoning Eames’ waistcoat.

Eames laughed softly. “And the king wishes to attend our next fashion show. Are we ready?”

Arthur grinned. “We’re ready.”

“Do I get to see?” Eames’ eyebrow slanted up as he started to pull Arthur’s shirt off. 

“Tomorrow,” Arthur promised. “For now...”

“Yeah,” Eames murmured against Arthur’s skin. “For now...” He pulled Arthur close, licking delicately over a nipple and Arthur shivered at the rougher feel of his tongue. 

“God, Eames, the details you think of...” He loved the prick of claws on his skin as Eames held his hips tightly.

Eames grinned roguishly. “Turnabout is fair play,” he smirked as he used his claws to slice Arthur’s trousers open. 

Arthur huffed a laugh. “You’re not still sore about those werewolves, are you?”

“Pet, you are entirely too coherent for what is about to happen,” Eames remarked, reaching for a small bottle of oil that just happened to be nearby.

“Eames!” Arthur clutched his shoulders, his voice rising in alarm as Eames slid slick fingers down the bared skin of his ass. “Remember you have...ohhhhh...” His complaint trailed off in a moan of pleasure. 

“Retractable claws?” Eames snickered. “Hold on, love, I intend this to be quite a wild ride.”

* * *

The entire court showed up for the fashion show, lining both sides of the runway like hothouse flowers. Many of them wore Ogreton’s Bully Boy fashions, crossed arms over colorful leather harnesses reflecting disapproval as they waited. Lord Ogreton himself loomed at the back of the room, glowering at all and sundry. 

The king showed up last and caused a flutter amongst his capricious blossoms by wearing a Point House suit in a conservative grey with copper thread picking out the pinstriping. Under the jacket he sported the matching metallic waistcoat, panels of chased copper making him a spot of glowing warmth near the end of the runway when he slipped the jacket off. His tall black boots were tied with copper laces, which glinted as he crossed his legs and settled in with a half-smile. 

Behind the curtain, Arthur bared his teeth in satisfaction as Ogreton stiffened, outraged, his scowl twisting his face even further from his pretense at humanity. 

“Looks on the verge of exploding, doesn’t he, darling?” Eames’ low voice caressed Arthur’s ear as he peered over his shoulder.

Arthur chuckled as he let the curtain fall and turned to survey his lead model. Eames spun for him, grinning, glittering in the lights backstage.

Tiny blue and green gems dotted his cheekbones and brow, highlighting Eames’ truly startling eyes. A black shirt billowed loose around his arms but was bound snugly to his body by a shibari harness of silvery rope, elegantly knotted and accenting the well-built torso below it. He wore matching rope cuffs at his wrists and Arthur adjusted himself as he remembered tying them earlier. Only the presence of the other models had kept them out of each other’s trousers. 

His black thigh-high boots were laced up the back with silver wire and he wore them over soft grey wool tights which would have been obscene with Eames’ anatomy if not for the elaborate codpiece, the sheen of polished leather almost glowing under a gorgeously filigreed silver shield. It was ridiculous, ludicrous even. It should have looked like nothing more than an assortment of fetishwear, but on Eames, it became a statement, a dare.

The other models all wore codpieces as well, though few were as blatant as Eames’. There were dozens of simple black or brown leather codpieces and many that were highlighted delicately with hints of metal or jewels. 

The subtlest ones appeared on the businesswear models — codpieces hidden under their somber trousers, conservative fabric whole over the signature curve and bulge beneath. 

The codpiece was the statement of the collection, and Arthur had calculated that the exaggerated virility of it would appeal to a young king who seemed to enjoy partying best of all his activities.

There was a collective gasp as the music started and Eames thrust himself through the curtains, strutting along the runway in time with the powerful beat. The king sat up and then sat forward, his eyes alight as he studied every detail of Eames’ ensemble. Eames, of course, delighted in the attention, posing and posturing while his tail flicked and swayed to the music. He teased his audience, seduced them and tempted them. 

Then, instead of leaving the catwalk, he greeted each model that emerged, exaggeratedly emphasizing details of each outfit that pleased him. The models played back and the show became a delightful pantomime of attention-stealing. Arthur leaned against one of the columns flanking the runway and watched with a half-smile.

Most of the models wore shibari in some form and the beautifully knotted harnesses, collars, and cuffs were an elegant contrast to the brutal leather strapping, garishly multicolored, on the courtiers who clustered around the show. Many of them were discarding the leather as the show progressed, trampling them underfoot as they crowded against the elevated runway. 

Arthur watched Lord Ogreton grow purple-faced with rage, stamping in frustration as more and more of his Bully Boy fashions ended up on the floor. The final straw came when the king himself jumped up onto the runway to fondle Eames’ silvery rope harness. 

Arthur grinned and grabbed several lengths of a shining coppery rope and strode down the length of the catwalk towards them. The young king’s face lit up and he pulled off the copper-paneled waistcoat, handing it off to a model, and presented himself to Arthur, arms held wide.

Lord Ogreton roared and lumbered towards them and promptly disappeared under what looked like an entire troop of guards. The entire squirming pile migrated out the doors, jerking and scrabbling, as Arthur knotted a coppery harness around the king’s torso, making sure to exaggerate the manly shape beneath. Several models brought out long mirrors and the king preened delightedly as his courtiers cheered. 

Then the music turned up and the dancing started, and Eames pulled Arthur into the deserted backstage area. 

“Aren’t we dancing?” Arthur laughed, fending off Eames’ pawing at his clothes.

“Horizontally, _yes_ , if you’ll just...stay _still_ a mo,” Eames growled. “I can’t _possibly_ tell you how impressed I am, so...just...let me unfasten...there!” He was triumphant as Arthur let him take off the waistcoat. “So I’ll just have to _show_ you, won’t I, darling?”

“I am perfectly aware of how impressive I am,” Arthur said smugly, letting Eames arch him backwards to lick a rough line from his sternum to his chin and then kiss him until Arthur was panting for breath.

Eames slid his fingers into Arthur’s hair and held him still. “Did you have fun?”

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes, smiling. “If you couldn’t tell, Mr Eames...do I need to arrange some rudimentary training?”

Eames snorted, giving him a little shake. “Arthur.”

Arthur clasped his hands behind Eames’ head. “Yes. Thank you. Now can we have sex?”

Eames purred. 

  
  



	3. "The Mattress Of Your Dreams, Half-Off Today Only!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could be Goldilocks, could be Princess and the Pea... Arthur and Eames are temporarily trapped in a dream but make the best of things.

Eames rocked back in his chair, studying the team Arthur had assembled at short notice. Ariadne had been able to make it, bless her capable little pixie heart, and Eames knew the extractor, an elegant Kenyan woman named Zawadi, from previous good experience. The chemist, unfortunately, suffered in comparison; a young pup with several degrees but little practical experience, whom Arthur had agreed to take on only with the condition that they use Somnacin sent by a trusted source. So far, this hurried job had gone according to plan, but Eames felt...a twitch somewhere, something that put him on guard. 

As Arthur continued his briefing, Eames started doodling on a sketchpad, twining tiny words along an outline of a well-endowed and scantily clad woman. He passed it to Ariadne with a waggle of his eyebrows, who studied it with a smirk. 

The chemist, Edward, glanced over and scowled, casting a look of disapproval at Eames before interrupting Arthur. “I think this job would progress more smoothly if all members of this team took the proceedings seriously,” he announced. 

_Really?_ Ariadne mouthed silently at Eames, who shrugged. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Edward?”

Edward snatched the sketchbook from Ariadne’s hand and tossed it to Arthur. “Our forger is lacking in attention span, perhaps.”

Arthur looked the sketch over thoughtfully, flicking a glance at Eames. “It’s certainly distracting,” he said, passing it to Zawadi as she sat up curiously and reached for it. “Mr Eames, I’d hate to have to repeat myself during this briefing.”

Eames made a mocking seated bow. “Consider me properly chagrined, darling. Do carry on.”

He took the sketch back from Zawadi as Arthur continued, and carefully thickened the lines, blacking out the warning he’d written. _No more than two in any test dream._

* * *

Arthur stepped forward and stared around the empty city. They’d known something was wrong as soon as the dream had stabilized around the two of them. “Well, your instincts were correct, as usual.”

Eames sighed, rubbing at his scruffy stubble. “I’d rather have been mistaken, pet. Just because _I_ don’t like someone doesn’t mean they’re out to get us.”

“Well, at least Ariadne and Zawadi are forewarned.” Arthur glanced around. “I’m more concerned with us right now. We’re in _my_ dream...”

“Oh fuck, darling, what are your projections going to do to us?”

Arthur shrugged. “Do you see anybody?”

“No,” Eames replied, glancing around with a frown. “But I feel like eyes are on us.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Eames pulled out his gun. “Shall we just get out of here?”

“No.” Arthur touched Eames’ wrist. “I’ve got a truly bad feeling about this. I think it might be a limbo trap.”

Eames holstered his gun with a disgusted sound. “You mean, if we die in this dream, we won’t wake up as normal.”

“I don’t know that for sure,” Arthur said with an irritated shrug. “It’s just a...feeling.”

“So we wait it out. We were only supposed to be down for a few minutes, just to check the layout.”

Arthur was distracted, studying the storefronts around them on street-level. There was no one visible at all, though most of the businesses looked open. He rolled his shoulders, irked by the feeling of being stared at. He couldn’t make anyone appear, which meant he had very little control over any projections that might exist here. He was scanning the windows above street-level when Eames put a hand on his shoulder. 

“What say we get a cup of coffee?” the forger asked, nodding at a coffee shop across the way. 

Arthur scowled at the shop. “There’s no one there to serve us.”

Eames tugged him along by the elbow. “I might’ve done a turn as a barista once or twice,” he said. “I think we can manage.”

* * *

Arthur had to admit Eames made a good cup of coffee, but after three each, and a quarter of the shop’s baked goods between them, he was growing impatient. 

At least they didn’t have the intense paranoia-inducing feeling of hidden surveillance inside, but he still found himself staring out along the street, looking for watchers. Eames apparently felt the same way, as they both sat facing the front of the store.

A flicker outside in the street made them both sit up and then a wavering outline formed, partially solidified, resulting in a ghost-like apparition.

“Is that Ari?” Eames asked doubtfully as they both rose. 

“Possibly.” Arthur stepped outside, Eames following at his shoulder, and the Ari apparition turned to face them. 

“Don’t die here,” she whispered, voice fading in and out. “...limbo. Zawadi took care of...wait to...wear off. I can’t...tiny dose...don’t know when...” She slowly disappeared, mouth still moving, and Arthur made a sound of frustration. 

Eames sighed. “So we wait. Let’s find a hotel, pet.”

They backed out of the first hotel lobby very quickly when all the shadows inside, with holes for eyes, turned to face them. 

“What the ever-fucking _fuck_ was that?” Eames demanded out on the street. 

Arthur frowned, more spooked than he wanted to admit. “How the hell should I know?”

“This is _your_ dream!”

“Then you tell me the formulation of the Somnacin we were given and I’ll take a stab at working it out!” Arthur ran his hands through his hair and turned away. 

“...fuck...” Eames put a hand on his shoulder and Arthur shrugged it off. “Arthur.”

Arthur stepped away. “Let’s...just find someplace to stay.”

Every hotel they tried had the same empty-eyed shadows inside, which also filled every apartment building and townhouse. 

Eames leaned against a lamppost, tired, letting his head thunk back against the metal. “At least they don’t follow us outside,” he muttered, scrubbing at his face. 

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Arthur mumbled as he pressed his forehead to a restaurant’s glass window. “Why are they only in...dwellings, I guess?”

Eames huffed a faint laugh. “Because you’ve got a bloody fucked-up subconscious that’s blocking us from resting?”

Arthur turned his head sideways to glare. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Fuck, petal, does any of this?”

Arthur turned back to glare into the empty restaurant. “Hey,” he said, straightening. “They aren’t in stores, or restaurants.”

Eames brightened. “I could go for some dinner.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about your stomach, but now that you mention it...”

“Darling,” Eames proclaimed grandly, settling an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, “let me treat you out to a night on the town.”

Arthur blew out a gusty sigh. “Eames, you are so full of shit. Fine, what are we having?”

* * *

An hour later, they were still arguing and Arthur was growing increasingly tempted towards murder, regardless of the long-term consequences.

Eames was still nattering on about the pros and cons of Ethiopian versus Senegalese cuisines when, as far as Arthur could tell, there wasn’t a restaurant that featured either within miles. He took a breath to say so and lost his patience instead, shoving him against a wall. “We passed a Korean place a few blocks ago,” he growled with what he considered to be admirable restraint. “What was wrong with that?”

Eames wrinkled his nose. “I’m not really in the mood for spicy right now.”

“Oh, for...okay, how about the barbecue place before that?”

“Petal, I know you Americans are proud of your national fascination with...” 

Arthur gave him a shake. “Do not. Start with that. Right now. What about pizza?”

“Do you know how to use a pizza oven?”

“Sushi.”

“I was really looking forward to something _cooked_...”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “There’s an Italian place a street over.”

Eames made a face. “But pasta is so _filling_.”

“Seafood.” Arthur sucked in a breath, trying to keep from strangling his lover. 

“Not my favorite...”

“Eames!” Arthur’s shout echoed eerily down the empty street and they both paused with shivers running down their spines. A faint hint of elusive movement caught their eyes at the far edges of sight, just where the afternoon was beginning to leave pools of shadow between buildings. 

Arthur pulled Eames closer, glaring. “There’s a pub right there.”

“Sounds delightful,” Eames nodded. “Let’s go.”

Inside, Arthur pulled pints for them both and then hunted up steaks while Eames dropped some fries into the deep fryer and sorted out the makings of a decent salad. 

“Well, this isn’t half bad right now,” Eames said, mopping up the last of the steak juices with his fries. 

“I saw a chocolate cake in the refrigerator,” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. “And I think there was ice cream in the freezer.”

Eames gave him a starry-eyed look. “Well, aren’t you just the best?”

They demolished the cake and ice cream and settled back in their chairs, still keeping a wary eye on the growing gloom outside as evening approached. 

“While we could sleep here,” Eames grumbled, “I admit I’m not looking forward to it. I’m spoiled enough to want a bed.”

Arthur tilted his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t there a mattress store a street back?”

Eames perked up. “Brilliant!” 

“Grab a couple bottles of something tasty and let’s go then.” 

“Right you are, darling.”

There was a disturbing amount of movement in the shadows as they made their way, quickly, to the mattress store, heralded by signs announcing Sale! **_Sale!_ ** SALE! and HALF-PRICE TODAY ONLY! Once inside, they locked all the doors and taped sheets up over the big windows. 

Eames heaved a huge sigh and flopped onto the nearest mattress. “Well, this one will do for me.”

Arthur sat on the edge of it and made a face. “Too firm.”

“It’s a mattress, love,” Eames said, lifting his head. 

“It’s too firm, Eames.”

“Oh- _kay._ What about that one? It’s labeled ‘soft.’”

Arthur tested it. “...too soft.”

Eames frowned. “And that one?”

“Ugh, I really prefer a pillowtop...”

Eames propped himself up on his elbows to stare at Arthur. Arthur ignored him and moved around the store, trying different mattresses and moving on from each with a dissatisfied scowl. 

“They call this memory foam?” he muttered, giving up and moving to another section. “Jesus, this is the cheapest gel mattress I think I’ve ever touched.”

Eames sat up, cross-legged, and rested his chin in his hands, watching, a little furrow in his brow.

Arthur settled onto one and finally sighed happily. “This is nice,” he announced to the ceiling and threw his arms out, then frowned, looking from side to side. “Crap, it’s only a twin. Too small.” He pushed himself up and resumed his search.

“Arthur...” 

“Shh, I’m trying to find this model in a larger size.”

“...Arthur.”

“Ah- _ha_ _!_ ...no, wrong brand, dammit.”

“Arthur!”

“What?”

“You’ve tried more than half of the mattresses in the store! This wasn’t a dream I’d have chosen but please tell me — are we recreating Goldilocks or The Princess and the Pea, darling?”

Arthur paused and then burst out laughing, making his way back over to flop on the mattress next to Eames with a grin. He reached out to tug the forger flat, settling close to kiss at him comfortably. “Eames...”

“I know, I know, I’m marvelous and you don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“I’d have picked a restaurant within about two minutes, so thin ice there.”

Eames laughed. “Fair point, I suppose.” He sighed, curling Arthur close. “I wish I could say I was in the mood for sex.”

“No, I agree.” Arthur let a faint shiver pass over him. “ _Not_ the time.”

“Mmm.” Eames held him, breathing softly against his hair. 

After a long comfortable silence, Arthur added, with a smile, “and no ‘relationship’ talk either.”

Eames chuckled. “No.” He exhaled a long breath. “I will say that I’m content. With you. With what we have.”

Arthur nipped the point of his chin. “What did I just say?”

“That wasn’t ‘relationship’ talk!” Eames protested with a laugh. 

Arthur snorted and settled back against Eames’ shoulder for several long moments. “Me too,” he finally said softly. Eames didn’t say anything, just pulled Arthur closer, twining their limbs. 

* * *

Ariadne scoffed at them over drinks. “You can’t tell _us_ there’s nothing going on between you two!”

Zawadi nodded. “You both were dreaming and couldn’t see the entirely too creepy way you turned toward each other in your sleep at the same time, and then curled as if you were embracing.”

“That! That!” Ariadne emphasized. “With two meters of space and a table between you two!”

Eames glanced at Arthur, who looked away. “There might be a thing,” he said with a little smile, enjoying the very faint blush that crept across Arthur’s cheeks. “There’s even the possibility of a discussion in the future.”

“Awww,” Ariadne cooed. “That’s practically like a fairy tale for you two.”

Eames snorted as Arthur choked on his drink. 

  
  



End file.
